Post Mortem
by betweenthetwo
Summary: He got himself killed. He abandoned her when she needed him most, and she will never forgive him for it. Hermione in the aftermath… Dark SSHG.


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Post Mortem

Summary: _He got himself killed. He abandoned her when she needed him most, and she will never forgive him for it. _ Hermione in the aftermath… Dark SSHG.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Authors Notes: Random inspiration. A little darker than my usual… but just as much angst as you've come to expect.

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She is a ghost of her former self, they say. She is better off without him, but she is not the Hermione they once knew. She knows they talk. She knows what they say, and what they think. But she knew what they thought when she was with him too. It didn't matter then, and it doesn't matter to her now.

The sun is shining, the birds are singing and he is the furthest thing from her mind. She misses him most when the wind howls and the glass rattles. When the chimney whines eerily, and the rain beats against the windows, she thinks of him and her heart aches. In the harsh weather she remembers his malicious words, in the battling winds she relives their tempestuous arguments, in the relentless rain she recalls the tears she shed at both his cruelty and his absence. Now, in this perfect weather, she tells herself that there is nothing to remember him by, and with this logic, she keeps him from her thoughts. It is six months since she last visited him. She knows better than to make the same mistake twice. She spends her morning organising files and making phone calls. In the afternoon, she holds a brief meeting with her staff before taking the afternoon off. It is Harry's birthday and she has volunteered to host the surprise party. She told Ginny she would be home by five to begin baking and decorating.

At four thirty she has still not left the London park where she chose to have her lunch. There are children nearby being chastised by a frazzled looking woman whose grey hairs are testament to the patience her offspring continually wear thin. Hermione watches her absently and wonders if she will ever have a family of her own. He always hated children, and it is not long before the mother and her brood are forgotten, her mind drifting to him for the first time that day.

They had argued once, about the possibility of a child. She had girlish notions of a daughter, whose hair she could braid while he read Socrates aloud, a girl she could teach charms, and he could read Dante to. He had dismissed the idea immediately- children were for young couples like the Potters who had too much time on their hands and too little sense. He declared himself too old and too wise to be a father, and when she had protested, he had called her young, selfish and foolish. She had hated him then, and told him so, only adding fuel to his belief in her immaturity. She had fled their rooms, and Ron had been the one to find her hours later wandering Diagon Alley. She had not wanted to go home, to go back to his cold words and her own knowledge that he was right. They were not suited to children. In another time, with another man, she could have been a mother. But with him she was not maternal, not idle, not frivolous, not feminine. She was Hermione, she was his inspiration, and he her mentor. They fed off each others intelligence, and argued endlessly. Theirs was not a happy or a stable relationship, but it was the only one she could imagine. But that night in Diagon Alley, with a concerned Ron by her side and a heavy heart, she questioned her own sensibility in the matter. He wasn't right for her. Ron knew it, Harry knew it, Molly Weasley knew it, even Albus knew it. If she was perfectly honest, he knew it, and so did she. They were too stubborn, too volatile and too intense to function normally or to last. It was only a matter of time before they both realised that they loved their intelligence more than each other. Ron had taken her home to the Burrow, and she had spent the evening with him, Harry and Ginny. By midnight, she had missed him so much she elected to floo home. He was waiting for her, idly reading his well worn copy of Hamlet- a sure sign of his deep depression- and wearing a sour expression. Neither had apologised, but they had spent the night redeeming themselves, and the next morning they had returned to their tentative happiness.

She shakes her head to clear the memory, and not for the first time considers purchasing a pensieve. Memories of him will drive her quite mad she is sure. Gathering her things, she leaves the park, frowning as she notices the time- she is already an hour late. Finding a quiet spot, she apparates to her cottage, where she finds an impatient Ginny has somehow gotten through her wards and has brought chaos to her usually impeccably organised kitchen. Apologising profusely, she joins her friend in her baking, and her mind moves past memories to the present, and soon she is laughing and joking. Everything is normal, and she pauses momentarily, bowl in hand to acknowledge that this is happiness. This is what she thought was beyond her, this was what she abandoned for him. This is what life without him has to offer. She is shook from her reverie by the arrival of Luna and Ron, both baring gifts and eager to help. She directs them into the sitting room, where they immediately begin to organise furniture and conjure banners and balloons. Laughing at their good natured teasing she takes their advice and leaves Ginny to bake while she finds something appropriate to wear. It is a long time since she has had occasion to dress up, and twenty minutes later the person who stares back at her from the mirror is hardly recognisable as bookish Hermione Granger, ministry employee. She grins at this classier, chic version of herself and chooses a set of earrings to match her black trousers and green silk shirt. The silver serpent earrings match the outfit perfectly, and with one last glance in the mirror she makes her way downstairs. She is happy with herself- he is out of her thoughts.

Harry arrives at eight- suitably surprised- and the party is a roaring success. Charlie Weasley spends the evening trying to get her drunk, and she is flattered by his attention. Minerva and Albus both compliment her appearance, and even Pansy is pleasant. She is all smiles and laughter until she runs into the kitchen to grab an extra glass, and finds Draco Malfoy staring at her. She offers him some champagne which he politely declines, and she searches for an extra glass. He is silent, and somewhat unnerving. He switched allegiances early in the war, and he and Pansy openly declared their loyalty to the Order. Now married, still horribly rich, and tolerated by society, Draco found an unlikely friend in Neville Longbottom, and thus made his way into the social circle of the younger Order members. Hermione had only spoken to him a handful of times at dinner in Neville's, and at parties. Again, she asks if he would like a drink or perhaps some cake, and he declines once more. Just as she fears the oppressive silence will fall again, he asks her how she is. Startled by the question, she hides her surprise, and tells him she is fine, thank you. He merely raises an eyebrow, and she can feel herself growing annoyed. Who is he to sit in her kitchen, to make her uncomfortable, and then question her happiness with his raised eyebrow and Slytherin smirk? He stands, moves to return to the party, but at the door he pauses.

"Interesting choice of outfit." He says, and is gone.

For a moment she just stands, and watches him retreat. Then she registers what he has said, and the glass drops from her hand. It shatters, but no one seems to hear. She leans against the counter and closes her eyes. She muses that Slytherins were always far more adept at noticing what even her friends could not. Glaring at her offending shirt, and pulling out her silver serpent earrings, Hermione once again wonders if she will ever be free. Even now, tonight, at a Gryffindor party, she is being controlled by him. She is wearing his house colours, and she hates him for it. Even when he is so far from her mind, the smallest thing brings him to her thoughts. Storms, children, books, wine… everything. He is everywhere, in everything, but not with her. She feels something on her cheek, and as she moves her hand to brush it from her face, she realises she is crying. For the first time in six months, she allows the tears to fall, and soon she is sobbing. She has not cried since she last visited his grave, and swore she would reclaim her life, and cry no more for the man who broke both their hearts. She thought she had succeeded, but now surrounded by broken glass, with her friends celebrating in the next room, Hermione Granger weeps for a man she never should have loved.

She misses him constantly. She can analyse these pangs, these longings for him. She can claim it is the rain that reminds her of his sullen disposition. That it is children that bring to mind his cruel nature, their arguments, her tears. But she knows that even when she is not thinking of him, he is there. In the colours she wears- she is more Slytherin than Gryffindor now, they all know it- to the wine she drinks, and the sarcasm in her voice. They won the war, but she lost her life when he fell. In a final selfish act, he took her freedom with him to the grave. She cannot escape him, and even now, without him, she is consumed by him. The happiness she thought she had found without him is nothing but a brief and false respite from his memory. In life he was not right for her, and in death he is no different. No less stubborn, no less intense. He is with her constantly, in her decisions, her ideas, her memories. In her heart. She is without peace. She knows no true happiness. He clings to her mind, her dreams, her future and her past and she longs to spite him for it. How dare her ruin her, after he was the one who left her. He got himself killed. He abandoned her when she needed him most, and she will never forgive him for it. The champagne Charlie Weasley kept encouraging her to drink earlier strengthens her resolve. She will make him pay. She will show him she can live without him. She will not let his memory- and the comments of Draco Malfoy- ruin her evening, her party, or her life.

Brushing away her tears, she splashes cold water on her face and forces herself to smile. She clears the shattered glass with a flick of her wand, and finds another in the cupboard. Focusing her thoughts once more she re enters the party. She allows Charlie to pour her another class of champagne, and listens attentively as he tells her about the dragons he is looking after currently. Laughing at his witticisms she catches Draco's eye from across the room and tips her glass to him. When the guests begin to leave, she ushers Ginny out the door refusing her offer of help with the cleaning. Charlie, she keeps. She brings him to her bed, to her body, and through him she exacts her revenge.

Severus darkened her. He took her from her future. He stamped out her Gryffindor sentimentality, and he made her someone new. It was not intentional. He did not intend to corrupt her. His intentions were quite honourable. He was simply not right for her. In his desperation to achieve redemption, he damned her. It was a subtle change, but one which made her into a different Hermione, no longer the sweet Gryffindor know it all. Not quite Slytherin, but close. And while she may still be able to smile and laugh with Ginny, or blush at compliments from her boss, she is no longer innocent.

She marries Charlie, eventually, but refuses to have children. She sees Draco often, and she dares him to speak to her with her eyes. She longs for him to ask her how she is. He never does. She grows to love Charlie, he is attentive, sweet, caring. They are happy, for a while. And she does not cry for Severus any more.

She likes to think that wherever he is, he is the one crying.

She likes to think he deserves it.

She likes to think she has won.

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End file.
